


The Great Below

by wordsliketeeth



Series: The Downward Spiral [3]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Blackmail, Blood and Injury, Breaking and Entering, Broken Bones, Choking, Come Marking, Cutting, Dirty Talk, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Forced Orgasm, Humiliation, Jealousy, Knifeplay, Masturbation, Mind Games, Non-Consensual Bondage, Obsession, Overstimulation, Physical Abuse, Possessive Behavior, Psychological Torture, Rape, Revenge, Sadistic Hanamiya Makoto, Sociopath Hanamiya Makoto, Stalking, Strong Female Characters, Threats of Violence, Vaginal Fingering, Violence, Yandere Hanamiya Makoto
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2020-03-08 20:32:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18902122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordsliketeeth/pseuds/wordsliketeeth
Summary: "Hanamiya's eyes darken but the dig of his mouth breaks to reveal the white of his teeth. His tongue catches at the sharp point of a canine, and his breathing seems to shift into something indicative of excitement. 'Now see, that hurts me, baby.' Hanamiya lifts his hand to the space over his heart, and you watch as his face contorts into an expression of put-on disappointment. 'After everything we've shared...'" Hanamiya finds out that you're seeing someone and he's going to do whatever it takes to put an end to your new relationship.





	The Great Below

Hanamiya shuffles across his room when his phone pings a familiar sound that can only be a text message. He narrows his eyes at the face of its screen but it fades to black before he can make out exactly who it's from. He sighs and closes his fingers around the device with more force than strictly necessary. “This better be worth it,” he says to the room and opens the unread message with an air of impatience.

_So... you're not going to believe what I'm seeing right now._

Hanamiya hovers his thumbs over the keys, contemplating whether or not he wants to entertain Seto's self-confident assumption when another text appears, this time, a photo. Hanamiya observes the image for a kairotic moment, the blood spilling through his veins turning over to ichorous heat.

_I figured you'd appreciate a visual since you were probably debating whether or not I was worth texting back._

Despite the venom that's spreading through his body and the unmitigated rage that's seizing his ability to see things judiciously, Hanamiya huffs a breath of laughter.

_It's sweet, how much you've grown to understand me._ Hanamiya can see his response move across the screen beneath his fingers, but his gaze is centered on the couple in the photo. _Where are you right now?_

After a short pause, another text appears on the screen. The phone vibrates in Hanamiya's grip but it's not enough to draw attention to how badly his hands are shaking.

_I'm hurt. I would have thought you'd have committed this place to your memory since it's where we shared our first date._

Hanamiya rolls his eyes and shakes his head in a gesture of annoyance. It's easy to pick up the pieces of Seto's sarcasm but Hanamiya is in no mood for a comedy sketch. He walks across his room and picks a jacket up off his bed. He slings the leather material over his shoulder and quickly exits his room, slamming the door behind him. He looks back down at his phone and types out a quick response before shoving the electronic device into his back pocket.

_On my way._

* * *

You hum quietly to yourself as you make your way up the stretch of pavement that leads to one of many entrances. You think about the past few hours, and how quickly time passes when you really don't want it to. You sigh and resign yourself to the self-borne opinion that time, as a concept itself, is feckless and unnecessary while fitting your house key into the shiny lock on your home's painted front door.

You step inside and absentmindedly kick off your shoes, thinking about how nice it felt to hold Kiyoshi's hand as you walked him home. He'd insisted things be the other way around and offered you the same courtesy but you had refused. It seemed—despite the popular belief that Kiyoshi wasn't always the sharpest tool in the shed—that he was growing used to your individualistic values and your obstinate ways of daily operation. At least, it appeared so considering how little protest he issued when you refused his conventional way of doing things. You smile at the prospect as you hang your favorite windbreaker up on an already occupied hook, the light material falling loosely over a black jacket.

You make your way upstairs and reach for a light switch on the wall to your right when a table lamp clicks into life across the room. You knit your brows together and blink against the shock of bright, but it takes only seconds for the image of someone all too familiar to sketch itself into cognition before you stumble back and into a chair.

“What are you doing here?” you manage, your voice remarkably steady considering the way you're trembling.

“Funny you should ask that, actually,” Hanamiya says, stepping out of the light and into the center of the living area. “I was on my way to that little hole-in-the-wall restaurant downtown to meet you when I realized that I was coming here instead. It's peculiar, how our feet have a mind of their own sometimes.” Hanamiya flicks open a switchblade and tosses it up in the air, catching the handle firmly in his grip when gravity calls it home. “I think some people would consider that fate,” Hanamiya continues, a twisted grin taking over the shape of his lips. “But fortunately for you, I don't believe in fate.”

“How does that benefit me?” you snap, fumbling in your back pocket for the small voice recorder you purchased several weeks ago. You close your eyes and take a deep breath, praying that your few practice attempts have paid off and that you've hit the right button. You notice Hanamiya's skepticism and pull the device, which closely resembles a compact MP3 player, out of your pocket along with a set of keys and a few peppermints. You set the items on the table behind you as naturally as you can, then you turn to face Hanamiya directly. Your heart is beating wildly in your chest and every scintilla of adrenaline in your veins is buzzing with electricity.

Hanamiya's jet-black stare passes over the various items before it shifts back to you, but for all the relief you feel at that moment, it pales in comparison to the cold fear that's turning over to frost and filling your lungs up with ice. Hanamiya twirls the knife in his grip and sweeps his tongue out across his bitten lips. “Because if I believed in fate, I'd be killing you here tonight; that, or you'd already be dead. I can't quite figure that out yet. But since I think destiny is a crock of shit, you and I get to have some fun tonight instead.”

Suddenly, with no other rationale but coincidence, you recall the jacket from earlier. “That was your coat downstairs...”

Hanamiya smiles, the tilt of his lips as genuine as it is fake. He walks forward and before you can dart out of his reach, Hanamiya drives the tip of his knife into the drywall next to your head. “Bingo,” he chimes, his eyes glittering like shiny black beetles. “You're a smart girl, baby. You're just not smart enough.”

“You son of a bitch,” you spit, hating Hanamiya but loathing yourself just as much for not realizing your mistake sooner. Not only does Hanamiya's imposture add insult to injury, but the fact that the cause for your distraction was Kiyoshi makes it feel so much worse—like the coarsest salt scraping over the freshest of wounds. You bite your tongue and clench your hands into fists, ready for a fight you should have won months ago.

“I just laid the trail of honey, you were stupid enough to follow it right into the heart of the hive. Though, it's not surprising. You seem to think that you're some kind of Queen Bee,” Hanamiya drawls and lifts the corner of his mouth into a sneer. “Who gave you the idea that you belong at the top, anyway?”

“I did,” you growl, and as soon as the words leave your mouth, you drive your closed fist into the slight give of Hanamiya's abdomen. “And if I've learned anything from entomology, you should have died off a long time ago.”

Hanamiya laughs as he drives forward and aims a kick at the top of your thigh. You shift in time to deflect its course, turning the force of his attack into nothing more than the fleeting friction of rubber against denim. “You know, that's what I like about you. You never know when to back down.”

“I'll never submit to you,” you snarl, dodging Hanamiya's fist and tugging the knife from the wall in a single fluid motion. “I'd die before I'd ever give into you. You're nothing to me.”

Hanamiya's eyes darken but the dig of his mouth breaks to reveal the white of his teeth. His tongue catches at the sharp point of a canine, and his breathing seems to shift into something indicative of excitement. “Now see, that hurts me, baby.” Hanamiya lifts his hand to the space over his heart, and you watch as his face contorts into an expression of put-on disappointment. “After everything we've shared...”

“HA!” you bark, your eyes going wild as you lunge forward and lash out at Hanamiya. You raise your arm up toward the ceiling before bringing it down in an arc, the edge of the blade cutting through the cotton of Hanamiya's shirt and into his shoulder. “ _We_ haven't shared anything! You've _taken_ everything you've gotten from me against my will.”

“I'd love to continue this lovely discourse but I digress, it's pretty obvious that you're not capable of holding a conversation. Therefore, we'll cut right to the fact that that's _my_ knife you're holding...”

“Yeah, well you're about to get it back,” you threaten, interrupting Hanamiya's sentence to aim another blow at his chest.

“Have it your way then. I guess I'm just gonna have to take something else from you.” Hanamiya eludes your strike and catches you by the wrist, tugging you in the direction of the ground. “Then again, it never really belonged to you, did it?” Hanamiya asks, his breath ghosting the shell of your ear before he tightens his grip and snaps several of the delicate bones that make up your wrist.

You emit a shrill wail that lights up the room and fall to your knees. The stolen knife pressing in against your palm unavoidably slips from your hand, the pain coursing through your fractured wrist too excruciating to ignore.

“It didn't have to be like this,” Hanamiya almost sings as he kicks you onto your back and picks the knife up from off the floor. “That's not to say that I'm not enjoying every second of this bittersweet reunion.”

You strike out in an attempt to claw at Hanamiya's face but he catches your injured wrist in his hand and presses down against the bones. A howl tears up your throat and tears begin to stream down your face like a palpable imitation of the exordium Hanamiya has scrawled out for the evening.

Hanamiya drops down to his knees and straddles your waist, his hands working fast like a spider wrapping up its prey. He fashions a leather belt around your wrists, paying little attention to the damage he's caused and the importance of circulation. It's becoming routine and you're starting to know the cycle painfully well. Hanamiya slides a second belt away from his narrow hips, the studded material catching in the light to turn silver into a temporary kaleidoscope of color. He slides down your body and narrowly avoids a strong knee to the groin. Hanamiya arches an eyebrow and looks up at you beneath a dark veil of fringe. “I'd think twice about trying that if you ever want to walk again—knees happen to be a specialty of mine.”

“You're disgusting,” you snarl, violent and harsh, and the breath that follows the insult is as sharp as the hatred you feel toward the monster at your feet.

“I'm a lot of things. Disgusting hardly makes the top of the list, baby,” Hanamiya tells you, as undaunted by the invective as the veritable fight you're putting up when he tries to bind your feet. “Besides, you can do better than that, can't you? You must have learned something from me by now.” Hanamiya doesn't wait for a reply and drives his elbow down and into the hard line of your shin.

You catch a wail of pain behind the edges of your teeth as you bite down on your bottom lip. The pressure is uncomfortable and the metallic tang that follows seems almost emblematic of Hanamiya's character: harsh, unpleasant, and commanding. Notwithstanding the loathsome comparison, the discomfort offers a small distraction from the cool material keeping your ankles tethered painfully close together.

“There, that should keep you from acting out. I have to hand it to you though, you're pretty strong for a girl.” Hanamiya pats the curve of your calf condescendingly. “You just always seem to fall that _inch_ short of what's adequate.”

“Fuck you,” you say, blood-tinged saliva flying off your lips at the venomous force of your words. “Do you really think that doing this to me makes you _strong_? You're not a man, you're a fucking coward! Do you have any idea what kind of damage this does to a person? People die because of things like this.”

Hanamiya stares at you for a long moment, the weight of the oppressive quiet hanging over you almost unbearable. His eyes shift with the reflective waters of careful deliberation and at that point in time, he looks as if the realization of what he's doing has finally dawned on him. You feel the beginnings of relief lift the burden of silence that's weighing on you but when Hanamiya raises his head to look at you directly, his gaze colder than before, it's back in spades. “And yet, somehow, I just can't seem to care,” he says, void of emotion.

“You won't get away with this forever,” you barely manage, your voice shaking apart in your throat. “People like you... it always catches up to you.”

“What is that exactly?” Hanamiya asks while bringing the knife he held earlier back into view. He slides forward and positions himself over your knees, then he lowers the blade down against the unsteady shift of your abdomen. “Karma? Retribution?” Hanamiya scoffs and applies more pressure, dragging acute friction over the soft weave of your shirt. The fabric catches and snags before finally giving into the razor-edged blade. You close your eyes as the sound meets your ears: the ripping of cloth, the pop of seams, the resonant hum in Hanamiya's chest. “I guess it's a good thing I say my prayers every night.”

You grimace and pull your features into an expression of repulsion. “There's no redemption for people like you.”

Hanamiya laughs as he shoves the hem of your shirt up to your waist. “No? But what of the Prodigal Son? Maybe one day I'll see the error of my ways and atone for my sins.” He pops open the button holding your shorts closed and tugs the stiff fabric into v-shaped exposure. Then he tilts his head to the side and observes the smooth stretch of skin laid bare before him. “I suppose until then, I'll just have to learn how to live with myself.”

You're contemplating whether there's any point in drawing up a response when your body twitches reflexively. You don't know why until something warm spills over the margin of your hip; Hanamiya's movements are so swift that it takes a moment for the pain to catch up to the state of visible injury.

You lift your head as much as the strain in your neck will allow and look down at the coalescing lines of slick crimson that mar your hip. Perhaps it's seeing the bloodied crosshatch that makes the pain so much worse, but the stinging ache that spreads through your body is becoming rapidly severe. However, it's nothing compared to the steady pulse that thrums through your wrist.

Hanamiya makes quick work of the opposite hip, each cut as precise as the last, a commensurate imitation to the obverse side. His focus is unshakable and the steadiness of his hand bears a close resemblance to that of a surgeon's. It's alarming, to say the least, but more than the blood and the future scars, it's the intensity of Hanamiya's single-minded immersion that sends ice down to the very marrow of your bones.

“You know what I hate about you most?” Hanamiya asks, his tone as steady as his grip. “I hate your perseverance and diligence—I hate that you think you can solve all of life's problems just because you're determined.” Hanamiya wedges a hand between your thighs and shoves them as far apart as he's able considering the tight restraint cutting into the skin just above your ankles. It doesn't grant him much space to execute his sick artistry but he doesn't seem inconvenienced by the inopportune circumstance. Furthermore, he appears entirely unperturbed by your methods of keeping him away from the delicate skin of your inner thighs. “Though, I suppose what I hate more is the fact that you won't acknowledge that you belong to me. The fundamentals of this game are simple, and require only a little practice to master.”

“That _hurts_ ,” you hiss as Hanamiya slices a rather long laceration into your thigh.

“Does it?” Hanamiya needles, dragging the knife at an angle opposite to the last. “I can't say that if our positions were reversed that I'd feel the same. There's something about the slow, smooth drag of a blade that really calms me.” He lifts his head for the first time since he started to pierce your skin and stares down at you. “The _slide_ of something solid across untouched skin, the cool touch of metal, the burning ache that follows that initial spill of blood...” Hanamiya lifts the tainted blade to his lips and licks your cardinal vitality from its unblunted edge.

“You're a fucking mess,” you bark, ignoring a shiver that threads like pain down the entire length of your spine. “I take pride in the fact that we're nothing alike, and I will _never_ belong to you. What I do and how I behave is none of your fucking business. You're just a delusional creep who needs some serious help.”

“But you're my obsession,” Hanamiya says, paying no mind to what you've just said. “I don't need to justify my actions. It's my responsibility to make you fall apart—and you will, it won't be long before I'll have you down on your knees, screaming my name.” Hanamiya ducks his head and drags the flat of his tongue over the many shallow cuts that adorn your left hip. You flinch almost violently, the scratch of Hanamiya's tongue like grains of sand scraping over the swollen welts forming on your skin. “I like the taste of girls like you. You're not bitter like the good girls who cry every day” –Hanamiya begins to crawl up the length of your supine frame– “the girls with glass eyes and thin porcelain hips.” He trails the knife along the floor, the drag of steel against hardwood sounding louder than it should. It adds to the many goosebumps that stipple your skin and you want nothing more than to put an end to this nightmare.

“What do you expect to get out of this?” you fume, trying your best to overlook the shake in your limbs and the amount of blood that's sticking to your skin like candy syrup. “It's obvious that I'm not going to submit to you, so what could you _possibly_ want from me?”

“Right now, I just want you to sleep,” Hanamiya tells you, a half-smile on his lips as he stares down at you, unblinking. He lifts his hand and trails a knuckle down your cheek. “I'll wake you up soon.”

You realize what Hanamiya's about to do too late to form the desperate plea that rests on your lips into sound. You squeeze your eyes shut tight and try to shield your face but your reflexes are stunted by the broken bones in your wrist and the makeshift bondage denting your skin. Hanamiya's knuckles make contact with the line of your jaw and where you expect pain, you can only hear the muted thud of your head connecting with the floor before your vision fades to black.

* * *

A shock of cold water rouses you back to consciousness. You gasp yourself into breathing and move to clutch at your chest involuntarily, heaving as a result of the icy chill that's sending a wave of powerful tremors through your limbs. Intense pain lances through your wrist, still bound to the opposite joint by a dark strip of leather. You cry out and hold your hands level to your breasts while rocking back and forth in an attempt to distract yourself from the agony spinning nausea in the low of your stomach.

“There's our sleeping beauty,” Hanamiya drawls, and you feel your body go rigid at the sound of his voice. At once, everything clicks and you remember where you are and what's happened to you. A resonate pulse of pain thrums through your temple and your head aches terribly, a sharp throb that spasms in the center of your forehead.

“What did you do to me?” you ask, an edge of hysteria underscoring the rise of your tone. “How long was I unconscious?” You bow your head and look at the bloodied state of your hips and thighs, only to realize that you've been stripped of your clothing save for a pair of panties. “Oh my god...”

“Don't worry, I'm not a big fan of somnophilia. I prefer my girls to be awake when I fuck them. The fight is half the fun.” Hanamiya says, his hands closing on your shoulders in a gentle squeeze.

You still entirely, fear gripping you in several directions at once. However, it's not by reason of the criminal at your back, but for the pair of feet ahead of you—the extremities you thought belonged to your intruder. You unconsciously hold your breath and slowly lift your head to appraise the new arrival. Your mouth goes dry instantly and you can't swallow the lump that forms in your throat. You choke on your next breath as you shake your head wildly. “He has nothing to do with me! Leave him out of this!”

“I thought you might say that,” Hanamiya intones and pulls his phone out of his back pocket. “The funny thing is, I got a text message earlier that implies quite the opposite.”

Your vision blurs with tears and when you blink them away, Hanamiya is shoving the stolen picture in your face, one where you and Kiyoshi can be seen clearly in a booth together from earlier in the day.

“You have no right to invade my privacy like this. Do you have someone _following_ me?” you rage, your fingernails biting into your palms.

“Actually” –Hanamiya tucks his phone away casually– “this was a complete coincidence. But, I don't want to look a gift horse in the mouth, you know? It just so happened to be the right place at the right time.” Hanamiya circles around you, his eyes fixed on your tear-stained face. “I wouldn't ask anyone to follow you—that's _my_ job.”

“If you think that stalking me is a _job_ then you're going to have a very pathetic future ahead of you.” You sniffle and wipe the salt-damp of your cheeks with the backs of your hands, first left, then right. “You didn't have to involve Kiyoshi. He didn't do anything wrong.”

“See, that's where _you're_ wrong,” Hanamiya protests. He walks over to where Kiyoshi is tied to a chair, his head hanging limply between his shoulders and his body slack. “He meddled somewhere he didn't belong, and really, _you_ should have known better. What did you think I'd do if I caught you with someone else?”

“I don't belong to you!” you scream, the vibration of your voice like sandpaper against the dry of your throat.

Kiyoshi grumbles something incoherent as Hanamiya knots his hair in his fist and yanks his head back. “Come on, Iron Heart. You're missing out. You don't want to be late for the party, do you?” Hanamiya cajoles, drawing the edge of his knife down Kiyoshi's swollen cheek.

“What did you do to him?” you ask, your voice shaking at the sight of Kiyoshi's battered face.

Hanamiya snickers, and when he draws the weapon away from Kiyoshi's cheek, a thin stripe appears on his skin. You watch in abject horror as blood slowly rises up to the shallow injury and beads over the beginnings of a bruise. “Your boy here is pretty tough—put up a fair fight. I think he really thought he could rescue you, be your Prince Charming. It's just so sweet,” Hanamiya gibes, pretending to wipe away a tear.

“How did you get him here?” you ask, as afraid of the answer as you are curious.

“I sent him a few pictures of my handiwork,” Hanamiya gestures in the direction of the cuts that have dried to crusty welts on your skin. “I have to admit, despite the way I feel about him, I'm impressed by how fast he got here. He must really like you.”

Hanamiya walks over to a nearby table, the inky spill of his hair catching in the light like the endlessness of space. He slides your shirt off of the wooden pedestal and easily rips it at the seams. He tosses half of the fabric onto the floor and walks over to Kiyoshi, shoving the other half into his mouth. A red stain begins to diffuse with the material and it's obvious that some part of Kiyoshi's mouth is bleeding. Hanamiya steps back to observe the other male for a brief moment, then he draws back his arm and cracks Kiyoshi across the cheek.

“Stop it!” you shriek, writhing against your restraints furiously. “He doesn't care about me! We're just friends!”

Hanamiya approaches you at an alarming rate to fit his hand against the base of your throat. He forces your head back and stares down into your wide-eyed gaze. “Don't fucking lie to me,” he warns, speaking each word with slow caution. “He has everything to do with this.” Hanamiya tightens his grip and you can feel his fingernails cutting into the skin along the line of your neck. “Which is why you're going to do what you're told and he's going to watch.”

Kiyoshi attempts to compose some kind of response but it's muffled by the fabric wedged between his lips and teeth. His eyes are hazy with the effects of coming to but it's impossible to miss the animosity darkening the honeyed-brown of his gaze.

“It's about time you woke up,” Hanamiya tells him, a sickly sweet smile taking over the shape of his lips. “I was starting to get antsy.”

“You're a psychopath,” you accuse, attempting to scoot back from Hanamiya when he turns back in your direction.

“Sociopath, actually,” Hanamiya corrects naturally. “Where exactly do you plan to _go_?” he asks, laughing and gesturing to the room in general. “You're not exactly in a position that's going to play out in your favor.” Hanamiya steps forward, shaking his head.

“You know, I used to think about doing these kinds of things to you a lot, and then I realized, I didn't have to fantasize about what I wanted to do to you—I could just _make it happen_.” He drops to his knees and straddles your thighs, his bony joints digging in against your skin. “Who's going to stop me?” He lowers his gaze and pointedly looks at your chest, his tongue sweeping out across his lips. “It's infuriating, isn't it? That some people just have the gift of getting away with everything.” Hanamiya's mouth tilts into a crooked smile and he stares into your eyes as he reaches out and begins to fondle the weight of your breasts in his hands.

“You look really broken up about it,” you huff indignantly.

“I wasn't complaining,” Hanamiya says, lifting his shoulders in the barest hint of a shrug. He shifts his grip and sweeps the pads of his thumbs over your soft nubs in tandem. You suck a breath in between your teeth and try to fight the electric sensation sparking heat between your thighs.

“Tell me that you don't want this,” Hanamiya purrs, his hands moving in cadence to the mounting tremble traveling up your body. “Look me in the eye and tell me that you don't feel anything.” It sounds like a dare, the hum of provocation in his tone as vast as the ocean.

“I don't now and I never will,” you tell him, your voice steady until Hanamiya twists a turgid peak between his thumb and forefinger. “I won't ever be willing,” you grind out, tasting the grit of the words between your molars.

Hanamiya snarls, his eyes shining like gilded fossils. He shifts quickly and grabs your shoulders and shoves you down against the floor. His hair grazes the contour of your cheek when he dips his head to fit his lips against the side of your neck, his teeth scraping just above the curve of your shoulder. “You're mine,” he murmurs, his voice a deep and rolling growl. He slides his slender fingers through your hair and twists your head to the side, wrenching your neck back until the strain of it turns to an ache. Hanamiya presses up against you, the fabric of his clothing dragging painful friction over your wounds. “You're going to want this, even if it takes me having to break you apart and put you back together again. You will submit to me.”

You shiver and narrow your eyes to slits, hating every single modicum of Hanamiya's existence. You can feel his breath, hot against your ear, cool against the damp of his lips against your skin. You close your eyes and try to shut out the inevitable but Hanamiya growls and pulls your hair tighter, pinning you to the floor. “Do you think this is a joke?” He laughs deep in the dark of his throat, lowers his mouth to the line of your shoulder and catches a patch of skin between his teeth. He bites down and you can feel your heart pounding rapidly against the shape of your ribs. “I've said it before and I'll say it again: I could destroy you.”

“You could also let me go and get over this pipe dream that I'm ever going to want to be with you,” you offer, flinching away from Hanamiya's pointed teeth.

“Oh if things only went the way we wanted them to,” Hanamiya taunts. “If things were wholly in my favor, I would have fucked you a long time ago. Your tongue would be wrapped around my cock right now, not forming meaningless speech.” Hanamiya drags the pads of his fingers across your lips. “I'd have laid you out on the gym floor, shoved your legs open and pushed my cock into your wet cunt after that first game you came to watch.” Hanamiya releases the hold on your hair and slides himself back against your skin, then he shoves his hand between your thighs and tears aside the cotton sticking close to your skin. You try to draw away from his touch but your efforts are futile, and two of Hanamiya's long fingers are driving into your sex before you can take your next breath.

You emit a high-pitched wail and Kiyoshi growls something unintelligible across the room. Hanamiya crooks his fingers and his fingertips brush against a sensitive bundle of tissue inside of you, and the point of contact rives an uncontrollable moan out of your throat. You clench your toes and bite down on the inside of your cheek, desperate to trap the further possibility of involuntary misrepresentation in the dark of your mouth.

“There's no point in holding back now. I can see right through you, slut. I've watched you long enough to know exactly what you want.” Hanamiya pushes his fingers deeper and twists _just so_ , opening you up to the humiliation that's unwanted pleasure. Tears begin to pool in your eyes and Hanamiya exhales a huff of laughter, his free hand working open the front of his pants. “I could fuck you, manipulate every hole in your body with my stiff cock. I could come inside of you, spill myself inside out, leave your wounds dripping with my release. I could fuck the ability to walk right out of you—have you feeling my cock all into tomorrow afternoon.” Hanamiya shoves open the front of his pants and withdraws his leaking member, swollen and flushed. “I could have you tasting my come at every meal. I could use you up and throw you out.”

“ _Please_ , Makoto,” you plead, absentmindedly tracking a tear that slips down the length of your nose and falls between your lips. His name tastes sour on your tongue and you hate the way it sounds on your lips, but you're not above trying anything if it means having a chance at escaping his abuse.

“You're not even trying,” Hanamiya chides, twisting his digits roughly. “If you were so desperate for me to stop you wouldn't be clenching so hard around my fingers. Your cunt is soaked.” Hanamiya withdraws his digits, painfully slow, and grins as he presents the slick on his skin to the light. He laughs and the resonance of it is dark and heavy like the low growl of a hungry animal on the prowl.

You get a brief glimpse of Hanamiya's lewd demonstration and the shame that flows through you feels like bacteria-infested waters. You close your eyes and turn your head away from Hanamiya's penetrative gaze, but the loss of sight only amplifies your hearing—the slick slide of skin against skin, the low purr of self-indulgence, and you can tell by the way Hanamiya is moving his hips that he's stroking over himself.

“You know, I would love to rend into you right now. Fuck you open and raw and aching, leave you broken and bleeding on your own floor. And the best thing about all of it would be the satisfaction of knowing that Iron Heart could do nothing but watch me take another precious thing away from him.” Hanamiya shifts back and you flinch when he hooks his index finger around the edge of your underwear. “On the other hand, fucking you seems almost too easy. I think picking you apart one piece at a time sounds a lot more appealing.” Hanamiya drags your panties down your thighs and forcefully spreads your legs apart until the waistband is digging into your flesh, another form of makeshift bondage. Then he lifts himself up and angles his lithe frame to drag the head of his cock over the apex of your sex.

“There's something about tearing you down that feels even better than sex,” Hanamiya says, undulating his hips and grinding himself against your clit. “But I suppose it's no surprise coming from someone like me. I've always been more interested in the less conventional way of doing things.” Hanamiya lowers his head and drags his teeth over the shift of your breathing. He slides his tongue up between the valley of your breasts before moving to take a turgid nipple into his mouth. You shudder and clench your teeth together with painful force. Hanamiya's hair tickles the base of your throat and for some reason, the natural occurrence is harder to swallow than anything else he's done thus far. It feels so innocent, so affectionate, something that takes place between two lovers in an intimate setting—it's the antithesis of what _should_ be and it makes you sick.

Hanamiya lifts his hips and you're grateful for the momentary recess but Hanamiya is quick to steal it away, his fingers probing and slick between your sensitive folds. You cry out and beg him to stop, the words not quite reaching your ears. Hanamiya flicks his tongue over the swollen nub glancing his lips, then he nips at the tender flesh as he drives his fingers deep into you for the second time. You roll back and forth, but Hanamiya is wholly unaffected by your attempts to interrupt his ministrations. He pushes forward, three fingers deep, stretching your body and filling you to an edge of discomfort.

You feel like you can't breathe, the oxygen in your lungs losing to the emotions flooding your chest. Your vision wavers and mottled spots dance across your vision. You think you're going to lose consciousness but when Hanamiya drags the tips of his fingers across a spongy patch of tissue deep within you, you realize that it's something different entirely. Your back comes away from the floor and a violent spasm surges through your body like a summer storm. You murmur something between a broken prayer and an abortive plea. Your body quakes and when Hanamiya finally withdraws his fingers, you exhale a loud whimper that shakes through your throat.

“That's a good girl,” Hanamiya praises, arrogance dripping from his tongue like tarry poison. He reaches out and pats you on the cheek, leaving a smear of your own arousal on your cheek. “See, all you have to do is behave and I'll reward you,” he tells you, sliding the weight of his body up to the line of your waist.

“I hate you,” you whisper, the venom in your voice turning over to a quiet sob. “ _So much_.”

“I love it when you talk dirty to me,” Hanamiya rasps, gripping his cock roughly. He runs his thumb over the head of his slick member and tips his head back, his eyes fluttering shut. He strokes himself slowly, his long fingers moving expertly between gentle touches and harsh pulls. Kiyoshi makes another noise that represents his disapproval and when you open your eyes, you watch Hanamiya's cock twitch at the sound and his throat work on a hard swallow.

You scoff and turn your head to the side but all you can see are the ropes binding Kiyoshi's legs to a chair. You roll your head in the opposite direction and stare out across the room, your eyes burning and painfully dry. “It seems to me like I'm not the only one you're interested in,” you say aloud, your voice as lifeless as you feel.

Hanamiya grips your chin with crushing pressure and tugs your head in the direction of the ceiling. “If he cares about you at all, this experience is going to fuck with his head, and nothing pleases me more than destroying what belongs in the trash.” Hanamiya continues stroking himself as he claps a hand over your mouth and nose, stifling your speech and ability to breathe.

Just as you start to lose recognition of your surroundings, Hanamiya convulses and ropes of sticky capitulation spill over his fingers and onto your chest. He exhales a breathy sigh and lets the hand controlling your breathing slip away from your lips. You inhale a deep breath and grimace as the viscous fluid begins to slide across your skin and pool in the notch between your collarbones.

“I haven't come that hard since I visited Iron Heart in the hospital,” Hanamiya says, his voice hoarse and his breath coming hard.

You narrow your eyes and furrow your brow in consternation. Hanamiya laughs and dips his fingers into the evidence of his orgasm collected at the base of your throat. “He didn't tell you? I could have _sworn_ he was awake when I dropped in on him...” Hanamiya trails off, dragging his slick fingertips across your nipples.

“Go to hell,” you snap, trying not to drown in the heat that's overwhelming your body.

“If only I had a dollar for every time I've heard that,” Hanamiya muses, impassive and withdrawn. He twists your swollen nubs and massages your breasts alternately, his hands moving on autopilot and skilled in a way that spells betrayal. Then he drags the edge of a fingernail over one peak while pointedly flicking the opposite and something electric bursts inside of you. Your body quakes and your limbs draw tight before going slack, your breathing hitches and your skin comes to life. The room tips sideways and your vision flashes white as you get swallowed by a sea of flames.

Still and all, it's not enough. Hanamiya continues his onslaught of physical torture, touching all the places that loosen the threads of your control. Your body is weak and fatigued, and after Hanamiya wrests the fourth orgasm out of you, you feel like a rag soaked in gasoline. Every inch of your body aches and the bruises and the cuts he left on your skin burn from the inside out. His hands feel like splinters and his tongue drags like a knife across the sweat sticking to your skin. You feel like you're tethered beneath that old neon sign that says _Religion Saves_ , crucified and burning like a witch in a Puritan town, Hanamiya the flame that started it all.

Hanamiya finally pulls himself up and into standing, leaving you to lie on the floor, speechless and exhausted. He tucks himself back into his pants and stares down at you with an expression you don't bother to acknowledge.

“They always break in the end,” he drawls and shakes his head with an air of disgust. “I really thought you'd be different.”

You open your mouth to argue, to prove to Hanamiya that you're not defeated and that he'll never have the satisfaction of breaking you. You're hurt and you're traumatized but you're far from coming unglued. However, he's moving across the room to where Kiyoshi's bound and you decide that it's to your advantage to keep your silence this time.

“If you even think about going out with her again, I'll kill you,” Hanamiya tells Kiyoshi, his lips moving close to the taller boy's ear. “And if you try to get help or contact the police, I'll break her in a way that she can't come back from. She doesn't belong to you, Iron Heart. She never will. If you care about her, you'll leave her alone.” Hanamiya wipes his soiled hands on the front of Kiyoshi's shirt before taking his face between his hands and planting a chaste kiss on his forehead. “Be smart for once.” He claps Kiyoshi on the shoulder and turns on his heel to shuffle across the room, back to where you're stretched out across the floor.

He drops into a crouch and smiles down at you almost sweetly. “I've had fun with you,” he says, reaching out to brush a section of hair away from your cheek. “I don't know what it is about you but I just can't seem to throw you away.” Hanamiya makes quick work of the leather strap binding your wrists and you have to focus on your breathing to keep from vomiting due to the pain that immediately follows.

“Maybe this will finally be enough to prove to you that I'm not playing games with you.” Hanamiya slides the second belt free of your legs and works it through the hoops that circle his hips. “It'd be in your best interested to see things my way, but you seem perpetually determined to do the opposite of what I tell you to.” He tucks his knife in his back pocket and runs a hand through the charcoal sketch of hair framing his face. “I'll see you soon, ____.”

You lie on the floor, motionless and static, until long after the front door closes. Kiyoshi clears his throat and you aren't sure if it's a call for your attention or a mere attempt to shake apart the dryness that's replaced the damp, but nonetheless, it gets you to move.

Your body protests your every movement and it takes every ounce of strength you have left to work out the complicated series of knots and loops keeping Kiyoshi tethered to the chair. You tug the fabric out of his mouth and he has to exercise his jaw before he's capable of speaking.

“I'm sorry that I couldn't do anything,” he says, his voice hoarse and shaky. “I tried getting loose the entire time he...” Kiyoshi trails off, the tremor in his tone giving way to his guilt.

“It's okay,” you tell him as you unsteadily rise to your feet. “I didn't expect him to bring you here. I should be the one apologizing.” You gently cup Kiyoshi's cheek in your hand and frown. “Your face...”

“I've been through worse,” Kiyoshi says, laughing dryly. He stands up and tugs his shirt over his head, and before you can parse his intention, he's fitting you into the material. “You must be cold.” He drags his palms up and down your arms in an attempt to erase the gooseflesh from your skin. You smile weakly, too touched by the gesture to admit to him that it's not cold sticking to your skin, but fear.

“The recording!” you shout suddenly, startling Kiyoshi to abrupt stillness. You hurry over to the table with your belongings and pick up the small device.

“Recording?” Kiyoshi asks curiously.

You hold up your index finger to silence him as you fiddle with the device until a haunting record of what's just happened begins to play through a tiny speaker. “It worked!” you shriek. “It's not the best quality but I have proof!”

“Were you planning on him doing this to you?” Kiyoshi asks, concern rounding the sharp edge of his tone. “Has he done this to you before?”

You turn your head to face Kiyoshi directly and despite everything that you've just endured, nothing hurts quite as bad as the grief-stricken look on his face.

You mull over a slew of believable excuses and feasible possibilities, but your heart feels heavy and your brain tells you to trust Kiyoshi, tells you that you can't shoulder this burden forever alone. You inhale a deep breath and take Kiyoshi by the hand. “I promise to tell you everything. I just need some time to digest all of this and right now, I need to call the police.”

Kiyoshi nods and squeezes your hand reassuringly. “I'm here for you. I'll do anything I can to help you get through this.” And as if it's proof of his promise, Kiyoshi dials the police when he sees that your hands are shaking too badly to hold the phone.

“Hello? Yes, we're calling to report a case of domestic violence and sexual assault,” Kiyoshi says into the phone, his voice calm but his gaze cold, and you can chase the storm clouds across his eyes as he speaks to the man on the other line. However, it's a different kind of brutality than what you've grown used to, one that you know you can take comfort in.

“They're on their way,” Kiyoshi tells you softly after he's answered a series of questions and hangs up the phone. “Are you sure you're ready to file a report? They're going to ask you for a lot of...specific details.”

You smile but it doesn't quite meet your eyes. “I have to be. I won't go through this again.” Kiyoshi nods and pulls his mouth into a tight line of understanding. “I should go get cleaned up. I don't want to be seen like this.” You turn and start in the direction of your room, but you stop before you reach the hall and look over your shoulder at Kiyoshi.

“Teppei?” you say, your throat splitting his name into fragments. He turns to look at you, his expression softening. “Thanks,” you say, and when you smile, this time you mean it.

* * *

_I waited for over an hour for you to show up. What happened?_

I changed my mind—made different plans. Hanamiya furrows his brow as sirens sound in the distance, the shrill alarm playing a melody that's eerily close to the sound of his name. The phone in his hand vibrates and he almost drops it due to the state of his inattention.

_Should I even ask?_

Hanamiya is ready with an immediate response—thanks to the unremitting prowess of his brain—but the bright flash of warning lights that vie with the ever-present glow of Tokyo's many buildings makes him feel uneasy. _I gotta go._

Hanamiya doesn't check the accuracy of his response, typed at lightning speed and lacking focus. He doesn't look to see if it's sent or if Seto's formulating his own response. Instead, he resets his phone entirely before tucking it away in his back pocket.

Seto stares down at his own phone for a long minute, his response the last in a brief conversation between friends, an ellipsis that doesn't require a reply but would gain one if history is anything to go by. However, after several minutes, Seto lifts his shoulders in a casual shrug and tosses his phone onto the table beside his bed. He tugs an eye-mask down over his eyes and falls into a deep slumber within a handful of minutes. His mouth is parted slightly and the continuous tremor of his breathing is loud enough to soft-pedal the chime of his phone—the message that he won't see until it's too late.

_I need your help._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


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